Page 23 of Broken Trust

“It's a fire hazard, Gia.” She kisses my cheek on her way past and sniffs the air. “Please tell me there's bread.”

“Ten minutes.”

Nella dumps the bags on the table and sinks into Nonna's chair. She's still in her scrubs under her coat, which means she drove straight up after a night shift, and it's only when she pulls her knees to her chest that I notice she hasn't smiled once since she arrived.

I start unpacking the groceries. Coffee, eggs, a bag of oranges, and a wedge of the good parmesan she always brings because she knows I can't afford it right now.

“Go on,” I tell her. “Whatever it is, spit it out.”

“I saw Mamma yesterday.”

“I'm sorry.”

“Me too.” She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “She was on the phone with a lawyer when I walked in, and she didn't even bother to hide it. She and Mia are going after Dante for everything he's got. The house, his savings, the joint accounts. According to Mamma, he ruined Mia's life, so now he has to pay for it.”

An orange rolls out of my hand and across the counter. I catch it before it hits the floor.

“And here's the best part,” Nella goes on. “Pa cut Mia off. Not a single euro until she finds a job.”

A snort escapes me. “Mia? Working?”

“I know. Apparently he told her he's paid for her life for twenty-seven years and he's done. So she's shopping for a new bank, and Dante's the closest one.”

I put the oranges in Nonna's blue bowl and lined them up so they wouldn't roll, because my hands needed something to do. I tell myself not to ask the next question, and I ask it anyway.

“What did Dante say?”

Nella watches me carefully. “From what I heard, he said they could take it all, as long as Mia signs away her rights to the baby and never comes back.”

I stand very still at the counter.

So he's keeping her. I knew he would the moment I learned Mia wouldn't even hold her, but hearing that he's willing to lose every last thing he owns to keep that little girl safe does something to my chest I'm not ready to think about.

The oven timer goes off, and I'm grateful for the excuse to turn away. I pull out the loaves and set them on the rack, and the kitchen fills with that warm, yeasty smell that always reminds me of being small.

“I lay awake most of the night thinking about it,” Nella says behind me, softer now. “Maybe the divorce isn't worth it.”

I turn around. “Excuse me?”

“Just hear me out.” She plants her feet and leans forward. “Half of that marriage is yours. Your salary covered the mortgage on that house, and his career too. Every hour you spent in Pa's office went into those accounts. If you file now, while Mia's picking him clean, you walk away with nothing. Maybe you wait. Get a lawyer, fight her for your share, make them come through you first.”

“She can have it.”

Nella stares at me. “What?”

“Every last bit of it.” I pick up the bread knife and start slicing a loaf that's still far too hot, and it squashes under the blade. “The house, the bank accounts, the wedding silver. I don't care.”

“That's years of your life, Gia.”

“I'm aware.”

“And you're just handing it to her?” She shakes her head, getting worked up now. “God, you were always so soft. When we were kids, Mia took your doll and you gave her your dress too. In high school she wanted your boyfriend, so you told him to ask her out. Now she's got your husband and she's about to get your house, and you're standing there acting like none of it matters.”

For a second she's right, and it stings. I'm eight years old again, watching Mia walk off with the doll Nonna made me, the one with the red yarn hair, and keeping my mouth shut so Mamma won't shout. I'm fifteen, telling Marco Ferri my sister liked him, then going home to cry into my pillow. My whole life, I've stepped aside so Mia could have whatever she wanted, because it was easier than fighting.

But this is different, and I need Nella to understand why.

I set the knife down and face her properly. “This isn't me being soft. It's the opposite.”